


Fire in the Water

by Ribbonshalos



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, F/M, Fluff, I love mermaid mccree, Los Muertos, Mermaid!McCree, Minor Injuries, Pirate!Sombra, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbonshalos/pseuds/Ribbonshalos
Summary: Creeping through the dark floor, she descends to the hold. In the near darkness, a lone candle burns in a lamp. Its illumination is cast upon a glass tank holding water. When the faint light shimmers, it sparkles against vivid, red scales.Sombra has seen large diamonds and a chest full of glittering gold and pearls but not this. A mermaid.





	Fire in the Water

The ship lies quietly in the dock. A massive beauty with large, white sails and official designs along the trim. A glorious captain is embellished in the figurehead, painted in gold. King’s men wander the upper decks, clad in prime coats and ridiculous hats. Their act of hiding nothing is easily caught by her eyes. Too many sailors on one ship with nothing to do but watch out for any thieves plotting to steal their treasure.

Their eyes won’t catch the movement of her shadow. 

It’s docked, motionless. It’s easier to maneuver outside then in a sharp wind with crashing waves. Her hands find familiar nooks to hold on to as she descends down the glossy wood. The gun port has many entrances, all closed. Holding tightly as men walk on the planks above, she slips a knife from her boot, and sets to freeing the covering.

The weak covering pops off like a cork from a bottle. Stowing the knife between her teeth, she slips inside without a sound.

Within the King’s ship, no souls wander the gun port. Canons wait nearby, dark and heavy but they are no worry to her. Her hands take the knife from her mouth and settles for a moment. Footsteps sound overhead on the top deck, but no one lingers here.

Creeping through the dark floor, she descends to the hold. In the near darkness, a lone candle burns in a lamp. Its illumination is cast upon a glass tank holding water. When the faint light shimmers, it sparkles against vivid, red scales.

Sombra has seen large diamonds and a chest full of glittering gold and pearls but not this. A mermaid.

She speaks the creature’s identity, causing the water to ripple and a face to appear in the lamp’s light. Rugged features hold her attention captive at the brown locks framing the tan skin of the man’s face.

A  _ merman. _

This treasure will be worth more than any bucket full of jewels.

“Who’s there?” the creature speaks in a rumbling accent that does not come from the King’s land. Although the glass crate has no openings, small holes allow access for air and speech, perhaps even for food.

She steps away from the ring of darkness, and curls her lips in the faint lamp light.

“ _ Un amiga _ ,” she says. “A friend.”

The merman’s gaze sweeps over her, wary but intrigued as if finding a glint of metal in the sand. A coin or a knife, she brings only something new.

“You’re not going to be here much longer,” she speaks, stepping closer while turning her head to view the dark, empty hull the creature resides in. One would think that the King would want only the best environment for his prize possession, but perhaps his men don’t care of keeping such a thing in the dark.

It will be a pleasure to destroy this ship.

“Why?” He uses the dark to his advantage, keeping his tail hidden from the light while watching her. Wary as expected, especially from the treatment she’s viewed thus far. Brown locks of hair waver in the water, framing his face when he doesn’t flicker his tail. 

“Let’s just say I don’t want them taking you,” she looks back to him, and the trimmed beard covering his jawline. His short hair wavers in the water, while deep, honey brown eyes never leave her form.

“How can I trust you, human?” Harsh and quiet, but hope hides in his vocal cords.

“You can’t, but you don’t have a choice,” she answers while slipping a chain out from around her neck. A small, medallion shines silver in the candlelight.

Her steps are carefully taken forward, and the merman holds steady at her approach. The heavy chain rests in her fingers. Lifting the necklace over a hole in the glass crate, she drops it without a word. The merman catches the chain the moment it splashes in what little water he swims in. His gaze goes over it with one, questioning hand. Still, half of his body is kept in the darkness. 

“I don’t like to be parted from that necklace, merman. Keep it safe, won’t you?”

Honey eyes watch her turn away, and slip past the lamp. Just as she enters back into the darkness, his voice calls out to her.

“Human!”

She throws her gaze over her shoulder, and raises a brow.

“What is your name?”

Her lips tug upwards at that. The precious item he now slips over his own neck reflects little light. 

“Sombra.”

She slips away from the merman.

 

*

 

The medallion is strange. A metal circle, with deep carvings elegantly pressed into the silver. The deep metal holds flat but round, and he finds the trinket to resemble the moon.

Why the human hates being without it is still his question, but he holds onto it in the near darkness with fading hope. The water McCree resides in is strict and held back. There is no room for movement, and his tail is always hitting against the glass when trying to stretch.

Sombra. Her face was almost ghostly in the weak light the humans left him with. The heavy presence of the ship surrounding him, and the glass caging leaves him struggling with his gills but she made it disappear for a moment. Olive skin, with dark hair and strange eyes. Bright but dark, unlike the humans who originally pulled him from his waters.

It was odd, but her hair was beautiful. The sides along her temples were shaved, but the top of her head had long, flowing dark strands. Dressed in a dark blouse, boots and a leather vest, she was not like any human he’s seen before. Dark stains were smudged around her eyes, and she wore pants instead of flared skirts like other human women he’s briefly seen. Her stature was small, but her hips were curved.

Why save him, why give him a promise?

The chain sits around his neck, and his only hand clutches the medallion to his chest.

He gets fed twice by uncaring, hard humans. Hunger growls long before they show up, and the meager fish they give him never keeps him long. He’s not sure of the days, for no light reaches this dark prison.

He wakes to a sound like the crack of thunder, and muffled noises of humans shouting and screaming. The place they hold him in doesn’t move, but more noises break through the thick wood. He twists in the water, hitting the glass with his fins but stays close to the light. The medallion wants to sink to the bottom of the crate, but he holds it in his palm.

Sombra.

Light suddenly floods the darkness, and he blinks at the fires encased in metal and glass. He raises his only arm to block the sudden harshness, but keeps the medallion in between his fingers. The water holds no escape, but suspends him in the brightness as footsteps echo and an unfamiliar language is spoken on rough tongues.

“ _ Toma la sirena, date prisa _ .” The words hold no meaning but McCree knows the voice. Blinking through the sudden fire, he finds her among other, darkly clothed and dirty men. They share her olive features, but she is only one whose eyes shine in the fire’s light.

“Sombra,” he breathes out as humans surround his glass cage. Other men bring forth a smaller, glass crate with handles. In the invisible walls, water waits to move him. 

“Hurry, we don’t have much time.” She comes to his cage, and with a small knife pries the top off. He looks to her, wary of the other humans. They may stand apart from the red coats and feathered coverings of the other men, but they are still humans. Humans are greedy.

He has no choice but to trust the lone woman in the company.

“Get in here, merman.” She signals to the other humans. They carry the smaller, barely larger than himself crate to the only slightly bigger one he resides in. His hard brow looks to her.

“I told you I would come back.” Her voice lowers, almost as if not wanting the others to hear her. 

She did. The chain around his neck still weighs him down, and he removes it. Slowly, he raises his head out of the water, and offers the medallion back with dripping fingers. Her cool nails take it, and pats it dry against her blouse before draping it back on her neck.

Her eyes grace his again, hard and intelligent, but light hides in the brown irises.

She motions with just her hand and a human moves the lid from the portable cage. It stands beside his current prison, and he flickers his tail once in annoyance.

He has no choice, but she waits for him.

The other humans murmur in a different tongue when he flips his red tail through the water, and slides into the new crate. Immediately, he presses back against the claustrophobia when the lid slides into place. Sombra taps it once, offering her face as comfort before ordering once again in her native tongue.

They carry him away.

On the top of the ship, bodies lay across the wood. Red pools bleam on the floor as other humans dressed like the company that moves him through the air join their side. Stares and wide eyes stay upon him. Exposed, and hardly able to move, he moves his gills slowly. The woman stays right beside his glass transportation, shouting orders and moving without hesitation. Disembarking from the ship, the dock sways, and the ocean is only feet from his sights. He presses against one side of the glass when the men shift the container uneasily, and the woman’s sharp rebuke follows.

“Sombra,” he says, daring to entertain the other humans more by speaking, but he needs her attention. His only hand presses against the glass, viewing the choppy waves and the dark, moonless night. Salt dances on the tip of his tongue. To be able to finally swim without restraint will allow him to truly breathe.

The dock gives way to a ramp leading up another ship. The woman falls behind as to allow enough space for the men carrying his glass crate up to the other boat. Another prison, another dark room.

Desperation moves through his tail, causing it to thrash against the glass and off balance the men. Their load tilts as surprise shouts echo against his struggling. The water is underneath him. He just needs to touch it to be free.

The woman’s voice is commanding. It cuts through his distress for a moment as he stills to look for her in the mass of humans. Several humans take hold of the glass crate. More bodies stop his momentum, even as he throws his weight into one side. Unknown words shoot through the air, curses no doubt, but they haul him aboard the darker ship.

He jerks against the glass prison, and finds her in the dark. Her expression is unreadable, but her dark eyes can see his anger and barely holding panic.

She lied, but she didn’t. She didn’t let those other humans take him.

She takes him for herself.

And he has no choice about it.

*

 

He is handsome. In the fire light the other pirates shoved upon him, she drank in his red scales and swirling, vivid fins. Just as red, the thin membranes spread around the merman like a large fan. Beautiful and lively. What little water they floated in was attractively drawn. Rugged features paint his face as sun kissed skin dusts his human, upper half. 

The ocean. He could sense it. His desperate attempt to be free of their own cage was almost successful if Los Muertos was more stupid and less strong. 

His wide eyes and parted lips speak more than she wants to know. Now as they slip them to their hold, his accusation is painted all over his scales.

They must be off before other royal guards discover their crime. Throwing the ship back into order, Los Muertos pulls it black sails high and sets free of the dock. The night will hide them as they travel back to Spain.

What a pretty prize they’ve stolen. A merman will be worth enough gold to sink their own ship. That is the worth of stealing the King’s own requested sea creature. .

Once the ship is on course, Sombra slips away to the hold. The men have finished containing the merman, and now work the waves and water. With fish, and candles in hand, Sombra descends into the darkness.

Interesting enough, the King already has a few mermaids, but mermen are almost impossible to find. Nearly myths in themselves in a world with soft magic and strange beings. Many talked in the English streets about the King wanting to breed the strange creatures. A whole aquarium just for his royal majesty.

The thought makes her brow narrow slightly. Yet here she is, going to insure the goods they transport is not damaged. Well, more than already is.

The merman only has on arm. His left is a stump that ends halfway down his bicep. Still, his remaining arm serves him well, and he seems to have no difficulty keeping in the water. White scar tissue decorates the remainder of the arm, creating a wonder in Sombra’s mind about what could cause harm to such a majestic creature.

In the hold, a lone pirate watches the cargo. A few sharp threats has him scampering back to the top deck as she finds the merman. Their containment isn’t as exquisite as the king’s own ship, but it holds plenty of water. Four sides of wood keeps the merman, and at least gives some privacy. A glass sheet covers the seven foot container. Similar to his other cage, holes allow air and a little access for food.

Stepping on a stool to view over the wooden walls, the startled merman flickers his tail. She made sure their cage had more room for him, and now the fine membranes serving as his fins flare out like sun rays. Exotic and enthralling, she can only imagine how he looks in the open ocean.

“Hungry?” She asks, holding up a pail of dead fish.

His gaze is already hard, and he is nearly pressing against the farther wall from her. Through the glass, he glares from the water as it laps around his cheekbones, staying mostly submerged.

She leans on arm against the containment, disappointed but not surprised.

“You’re a merman. I can’t let go of something so pretty.” It’s not an apology, but he looks away in anger as if it were a poor excuse for one.

“I won’t be back until morning. Unless you want to starve until then, just speak.” She gets down from the stool, and sets the foul smell of dead fish aside. Stray pieces of wax stick to her arm where she holds the candles against her. She twists her lips at that while searching the hold. Lanterns are in a deep corner, making her cuss at the near darkness until she sets them around the merman’s container.

As she lights the first candle, waver splashes from within the tank. She doesn’t stop her movement, only strains her ears as she continues along. In a loose circle, multiple candles give light to the dark hold, but not all are burning. It’s still night and he may want to rest. In the morning, she’ll light the rest. Being in a constant, unchanging state without a reference to time can do things to the mind, and Sombra doesn’t want to inflict that damage upon the creature. He’s been in the dark long enough.

Once she finishes her task, some wax dries on her finger that she quickly scraps away. Her skin burns for a few moments as she retrieves the pail of fish, and once again steps upon the stool.

“Are you done throwing a fit?” she asks, once again leaning over the wooden edge. His red tail moves swiftly in what little water he has. Sombra watches the merman move away from her close proximity with a raised brow. 

In the better light, she can see his detailed body. Stories always circle around mermaids being seductresses, but nothing about their male counterparts. Muscle circles his being, building his pecs and outlining abs on his being. At his hipline, the v-line cutting along his skin slips to burning red scales. The caudal fin is a spray of fine, almost thread like membranes that shimmer in the water. A beautiful fan that moves like silk.

He twists to hide his tail from her gaze, and she blinkst the anger in his honey eyes.

Pressing her nails to her lip for a moment, she hums a note.

“We’re going to Spain. I’ll get you there alive and cared for.” she speaks. Not a comfort, but not a threat either.

“I am not a thing to be stolen.” His sudden voice cuts through the water and glass, muffled but unable to quiet the rage just along his tongue.

She waits a moment, moving her hair from her face. There isn’t an answer that will make him happy. For a moment, the gills on the side of his neck flare out, before he turns and uses his fin to hide himself. A spray of red moves through the water, and she can’t see his honeyed eyes.

A frown touches her lips at this. Leaning forward, she parts her lips.

“I heard you were taken from the colonies,” she says, peering to see if his hard features soften at all. “You’re a long way from the New World.”

“You’re determined to take me even farther away.” He is still harsh, unforgiving.

She taps her bottom lip for one moment, not receiving the merman’s attitude well.

“Do you have a name?” She asks, leaning forward over the glass slightly. The red flares of fin flow in the water, keeping his marbled chest out of sight.

“No.” Honey eyes glare through red fins. “I’m not going to let you take that as well.”

She huffs a breath, annoyed. “How can I steal a name?”

The creature doesn’t care to answer either question as he settles along the bottom of the tank. Hidden, but also trapped in small confinements. Sombra narrows her brow. It is not a preference of hers to not know something, but it’s just a name. Even the one he calls her isn’t really true, but that will always be her secret.

She waves her fingers in the air as she steps down from the stool.

“ _ Buenas noches _ .”

The merman can’t look over the edge of tank and see his surrounds. He can’t see her stop on the creaking stairs going upwards. He can’t see her tap her lip once again, before turning back around. 

If any of Los Muertos comes down the steps and find entertainment within the merman, it would be unacceptable. She’s in charge of the goods delivery, after all. 

She sits on the creaking floor in the hold, and with the container at her back, she lets herself breathe slowly. Water sloshes quietly. A beat later, the sound grows.

“Sombra?” His voice falls over the side of the wood.

A pleased smile tugs at her lips.

“Right here.”

Another pause, and another splash.

“Why do you stay here?”

She shifts, stretching her legs out in front of her. One finger touches the now dry medallion resting against her skin, catching the image of it around the merman’s neck in her mind.

“I don’t trust any of those idiots to take care of something so pretty, and I’m tired.” Her answer is enough to let the water settle again. One second passes, and her ears catch the sound of a fin gently bumping the side of the crate where she resides. It’s silent again.

In the faint candlelight, the shadows grow long and mysterious. They look pretty, dark and edging along bright things. The chain shifts against her neck as she lets her eyes close.

Interesting enough, the merman still finds her comforting, even if she’s one of the few carrying him off to a pretty glass prison for the rest of his existence. She may be the one face and name he has to recognize, but still. He’s genuine and angry. Vibrant and real.

The fins on his tail reminds her of the sun.

 

*

 

He can’t hear her anymore. Such a quiet human when she wants to be, but her voice still dances along the shell of his ear.

Trapped again. Another cage that keeps his movements small and his fins from really moving. At least he can stretch his scales somewhat, and swim without immediately bumping into a wall.

Anger still builds inside of him, swirling and suffocating, at what Sombra did. She gave him hope, a taste of what freedom might be like, and snatched it away. For a moment, McCree wishes he would have broken the medallion when it was on his person, but that wouldn’t change anything.

How pretty will her expression be when she’s angry? She seems to only be unconcerned and hidden. There is nothing he can pick apart from her cheekbones or actions. A pirate with no soul. A woman without a care, besides perhaps that strange medallion.

She sleeps now, keeping watch on him as if he could escape. His one hand has already tested all the corners and the glass, and perhaps he could try the strength of his tail against the glass, but it would be loud. She would know immediately, and be ready.

Sharp, knowing eyes would pierce through him again, and he doesn’t wish that. When she sees him, she didn’t scowl or comment about his damaged person. His left arm is gone, but it seems to not affect his value as a majestic sea creature. She still finds him to be a treasure, but that only brings more conflicting emotions inside his already thrashing center.

McCree rests in the water, finding the familiarity comforting. Closing his eyes, he lets his fins hide him away. A false security, but something he can still do. There were always tales about mermaids being captured and forced to be ogled at as if nothing more than shiny things.

He refuses to have an existence at someone else’s pleasure, but his wants are very limited as of now. His good hand rubs his stump, massaging it for a moment as faint spikes of memories strike through it. It will still hurt sometimes, and it refuses to leave him be.

He lets exhaustion carry him to sleep as he rests beside the wall closest to the human. A delusion he likes to entertain, but it’s a good change to be by someone who doesn’t entirely see him as an object or be sneered at.

Her eyes are different, as if she can see right through him in their dark color and bright glint.

She feeds him in the morning. After she lights candles, brightening the space and giving some sense of time, she leaves, but returns once again. More fish in the afternoon, and again late at night. Each time she returns, sea salt spray comes off her hair. A breath of what lies just outside these hard walls, but she talks with him. Asks questions about him.

He’s wary at first, trying to see what she could possible twist and manipulate from him, but its questions about what it was like before he was tangled in net and dragged onto a big ship. Simple, and curious. He answers until he gets angry again and fans his fins to hide. She’ll roll her eyes, or tap her lip in annoyance before leaving once again. Only bothered, not concerned.

It shouldn’t stir the inside of his ribcage up so much, but he grits his teeth at her sharp, dark eyes.

She returns at night, sleeping and watching.

She’ll report have far they’ve traveled, and what coast they’re along. The human’s names are useless to him, especially this far from his ocean. It only tells him how farther away he’s being taken.

The candles help mark the days. Sombra diligently lights them and snuffs out a few when the time comes, keeping him somewhat oriented. The little flames don’t compare to the sun, or the moon at night. He misses the faint sight he’s had for so long before the humans came.

After he eats one night, she stays for a moment. Her gaze doesn’t stay on him for long, bluntly staring without care, but she does part her lips slowly.

“What happened to your arm?” She asks. No expression touches her cheekbones, only the candlelight highlights her arching brows.

He twists in the water, nearly underneath the glass where she leans over. For a moment, he wants to bare his teeth. The anger subsides at her simple look, and her finger tracing the metal of her medallion.

“Tell me about your necklace.” A bargain. A weak one, but at least something he can use.

She curls her lips, amused at his attempt of control but lifts the chain from her neck. It dangles over the glass sheet and the water, glinting with a faint silver reflection.

“It’s a sailor’s medal,” she explains, “from my home country.”

McCree flicks his tail, cutting through the water in a rush of bubbles and disbelief.

“You were a sailor?”

She scoffs. “Me? No…”

The dark stains around her eyes make her irises glint brighter. She is silent, squeezing the medallion for a moment before looking to him. Hair falls over her one shoulder, bringing the scent of the sea and something earthly. A plant, or a flower.

“I’ll tell you the rest when you finish the story about her arm.” She straightens, and places the medallion back around her neck.

His scales twitch as he glares, unable to win even at his own game but he flares his gills.

“A shark.”

She blinks, and it’s worth that one moment of sheer confusion and disbelief. Sombra hates being confused, or without the facts.

“ _ Qué? _ ”

“The sonuva was fast. Sharks aren’t usually a problem to deal with, but they can be mean buggers.”

Her brow is narrowed, glancing at the scars on the remainder of his arm while dissecting the expression of ease on his face.

“How did you survive?” she asks, drawing out the question in growing acceptance.

He doesn’t open his mouth, only pauses for a moment to let her wonder. He turns in the water for a moment, letting his tail arch before coming to nearly bumping his nose against the glass underneath her piercing gaze.

“I told my story, now finish yours.”

Her eyelids narrow before she breathes out and moves her hair back over her shoulder.

“The medallion was my father’s.”

She holds still, as if focusing on keeping her expression unmarked and disinterested. They hold gazes for a moment, a test and a question in both irises. Her dark eyes are mesmerizing, richly colored, but there’s only that sharp glint within. There is no doubt she could have lied to him in every single word, but his gut says she didn’t. Even when she told him she’d come back, and make sure the other men didn’t take him, he believed that. It didn’t end up as he hoped, but there is still truth within her fabric of lies.

He breaks away first, flicking his tail to turn away in the tank of water. Her footsteps are quiet as she settles down against the wood. Does she breathe softly? How long does she keep her eyes open until sleep makes them close? 

He hates himself for it, but he settles against the side of the tank she leans on from the outside. 

*

 

The truth is a powerful thing. Keeping it concealed makes it a weapon, but speaking of it lets it fly.

He’s handsome. From his unworldly red scales to his brown hair, he is strong and striking. His words are guarded and on edge, and drips of desperation fall from the corner of his eyes every time a wave crashes against the hull. The ocean is so close, yet he’s still separated by glass and false water.

She’s never sold a person before. Granted, pirates usually take ships and treasure, and their gang is notoriously for pulling apart royal expeditions, but still. He is a creature far beyond the beauty of a human. Experiences are laced into his scales and fingertips. His words pull at her skin, making her itch and ponder.

It begins as an absent thought. How could she managed to carry a merman from the tank to the open ocean without being seen and all on her own?

It stops her cold.

This gang has been her company for a long time. She doesn’t trust anyone, much less have love for Los Muertos. Thieving runs in her blood, and her neck hangs heavy with her reason for being clad in black adored with hidden knives.

Her medallion rests heavily against her chest. The moon carved into silver, laced with memories of what she once had.

She’s killed before. Stolen, lied and cheated. Her heart is a dark as her eyes, but his are warm. Honey that threatens to drip between her fingertips, with a fading sunset of fins and beautiful scales.

The thought is chained up and tossed aside. Caged in the back of her mind, she heads up to the top deck for some real sunlight and fresh air. Maybe she can snag a bucket of salt water for the merman. He’ll like that.

Nine days into their voyage, a crew member wanders down the steps.

His limbs are stretched with wired muscle, and metal piercings stab along his ears. One rotten tooth sneers at her when she sets the pail aside and tells the merman to be still.

He jokes about the pretty creature captivating Sombra’s interests, but she only steps between him and the tank of water. Answering in her native tongue, she tells him to go to the top deck and do his job. He shouldn’t waste the air down here. 

This man will not stare at the merman and prompt thoughts of the gold that could be taken for himself. She tells him to go jump in the ocean. A challenging grin fits onto a dirty mouth.

The crew member is relentless. Looming above her, he tries to step pass her small frame but her foot kicks his knee sideways. A snarl leaves his throat, furious and painful. Slipping free the knife that hides in her boot, she swipes at him just as he does her. Knuckles connect with her lips, but her blade splits his cheek.

Curses leave his mouth in a foreign tongue. Blood salts the inside of her mouth as her lips begin dripping red. Her stance is steady. Tense fingers grip the knife as the man cups his bleeding skin.

“ _ Vete antes de que te corte la otra mejilla _ .” Her threat is upheld by the blood staining the shine of her knife. Foul names leave his tongue about her, before he turns and scampers out of the hold.

She breathes for a moment. Her grip on the knife hilt loosens, and she straightens. A heavy pulse of pain beats in her lips where his punch split both. Spitting pink saliva, it stains the floor as she turns back to the crate.

Splashes in the container put her at ease. No eyes rest upon him like she.

“Sombra?” A question of concern in deep, drawn cords.

“Right here,” she speaks around the pain.

“What happened?” He asks as she steps onto the stool. He’s waiting just underneath the glass. Shock touches the corners of his eyes as she sits on the edge of the crate. Blood drips down her chin, making the merman flare his fins out. 

“I told a crew member to get back to work.” Using the sleeve of her shirt, she swipes most of the blood off her lips. Unfortunately she smears some of it across her face. Lovely.

“Your mouth…” he says. For a moment, fury matching the intense color of his tail burns in his words. She looks to him, turning her blood stain sleeve away. The fins of his tail twist in the water as he does, anger touch every red scale.

“Don’t worry, a girl like me can handle myself.” She tugs her lips upwards for a moment, hoping blood doesn’t spot her teeth. His brow narrows though, and she figures the taste of rust in her mouth isn’t helping either.

To put him at ease, she retrieves an old worn cloth and sets to cleaning her blade. Sitting along the edge of the tank in his full view, the blood on her knife slowly disappears as she keeps spitting pink from her mouth. A few times, she licks her lips, but that only agitates the injury.

“I’ll drown that man when I see him next.” His voice is steady, sure.

A quiet breath of laughter leaves her mouth as she inspects the knife one last time. It’s clean, and she slips it back into her boot.

“You won’t see him.” 

Her own promise.

Irrational anger still touches through him. Of course he would be defensive of the person who gives him his food, but the hard intensity in his honey eyes is sweet. In the water, his short locks of hair float, sometimes framing his tight eyes. 

His red fins flicker, spreading around him like a flower blooming. Tentatively, he reaches for a hole in the glass sheet keeping him in the crate. It’s one of the larger ones where she slips him fish, but his one good arm holds onto the edge.

“Come here, Sombra,” he says. Still angry but holding her gaze deeply.

She tastes blood on her lips while she parts them. He is steady, and the ship is peaceful on the sea today. Red seems to be everywhere, but there are tales of magic deep within these creatures of the ocean.

Curiosity helps her lean over the glass, but surety pushes her to where his hand lies against the glass.

He drops his hand back into the tank, letting water drip from his fingertips when he once again reaches up. His hand barely fits through the hole in the glass, but she’s close enough that he can touch her face.

Rough but warm fingertips carefully press against her lips. A clean, fresher salt touches her tongue as her injury burns for a moment. It will help clean the split in both lips. The merman’s hand remains steady, unwavering. He is heat and red. Fingertips move gently across the split fault line along her mouth before he is still. Her lips form a gentle pout, feeling his skin against hers in full.

A chivalrously kiss, if she were anything of the sort or able to feel the warmth of his sunshine lips. 

He drops his hand, letting the few drops of blood staining his fingertips splash away in his salt water. Her hand comes to her mouth, still feeling the ghostly impression of his touch as she wipes away the last of the blood and sea salt.

“ _ Gracias _ ,” she murmurs, turning away while still touching her own lips.

She doesn’t hear his soft response in the creaking of the ship and the movement of the waves.

*

He still sleeps against the side of the tank where she rests. There is no sign of her heat or breath, but it’s an invisible line he touches. When other pirates travel down to the hull, her words chase them away. She returns to him to snuff out a few candles and allow that sense of time. Buckets of the ocean are carried to his tank where he lets her slowly flow the salt onto his hair.

The split on her lips is nearly dead center. It heals faster with the sea salt. Before she steps away from the edge of the containment, she allows his fingertips to brush salt against her wound. It’s something she could do easily herself, yet she never refuses his offer.

He likes to think she enjoys the touch as much as he does.

“Sombra,” McCree catches her before she steps down from the stool.

“Yes?” Her lips settle, nearly healed now and able to be tugged upwards without a wince or blood.

“Why are you doing this?”

Her sharp eyes don’t blink.

“I already told you, the money from selling—”

“No,” he cuts off her unconcerned words, feeling forced and strange from her usual tones. “Why do you live as a pirate?”

Her head turns to where her hair sweeps against her cheekbone, almost hiding her eyes. One moment allows her to touch the medallion against her chest, representing the opposition of her work.

“It’s what I’m best at.” She looks at him. “No one remembers the girl whose parents were killed in a wave of disease.”

The ship creaks for a moment as a large wave rocks it. Sombra eyes glint in the faint candlelight with something mysterious and strong.

“No one forgets the shadow taking their most valuable possessions. Secrets and gold weigh the same.”

Her gaze drops, first to the water sloshing around his gills, then to him. She knows. She knows him as he is, and not the creature worth sparkling clear rocks.

“You’re the best one I keep, merman.”

Her cheekbones are carved in the shifting light. The urge to reach out and touch her skin is only stopped by the glass separating McCree from the human. Her lips were warm, how warm is the rest of her?

“I know you’re more than a shadow, Sombra,” he says. Flipping his tail in the water, he comes closer to where she leans against the side of the tank. “I know you.”

A rarity occurs before his eyes. A smile without victory or a secret. Genuine and for him alone.

“That’s your secret then.”

It’s not the only thing he wants to hold.

 

*

 

The darkness shakes her before faint candlelight finds her eyes. Another explosion cuts above on the deck, threatening to tear apart the entire frame of the ship. She’s on her feet in moments.

They’re under attack.

“Sombra?” His voice calls her, and she allows one moment to scramble on the stool and look to his red scales.

“Right here,” she breathes. “I’ll be back.”

“What’s going on,” he demands as she slips the medallion from her neck.

“I’m going to find out,” at that, she drops the necklace into the water. As she turns away, her eyes allow her the sight of his fingers wrapping around the chain before it hits the bottom.

She’ll come back.

He shouts after her, but she slips up through the ship. Loud explosions ring as she passes the lower deck holding cannons. Los Muertos is fighting back against whoever is upon them. The top deck holds answers as another wave of iron peppers the ship’s side. A man jumps overboard, forsaking the crew. She bares her teeth at that but looks over the sea around them.

Three of the King’s ships surround their one. The ship to their portside throws planks overboard, connecting their ship to theirs. A few men lunge to throw it off their ship, but meet bullets to the chest.

Los Muertos is cornered and out gunned. There is no running from this. They were traveling along the coast but haven’t reached Spain yet. Either the pale men in fancy garb will end her breathing or she’ll chance swimming through cold waters.

Another blast rocks the ship, and it changes the balance under her feet.

It’s going down.

Someone shouts about the merman. Her breath holds still in her chest as a man with a rifle starts towards her. There isn’t a bullet in the chamber, but a sharp end still aims at her chest.

Rolling to the ground, her fingers grasp the hilt of her knife and slash the man’s leg. He crumbles as a swift knock to the head renders him useless. More men step onto the deck. Sombra turns, rushing back down into the ship. 

The King's men are here to kill the pirates and take back their merman. 

He is not a thing to be stolen

A few lone men still linger in the gun port but draw their weapons when British sailors flood in after her. A bullet explodes in the wood inches from her ear, but she doesn’t slow her pace.

If she dies, she’ll die keeping the merman her secret.

The hold is already flooding with water. Three large puncture wounds rip into the wood of the hull and let the sea flood inside. Furious beatings echo against the glass of the tank as she scrambles forward, calling out to him.

“Sombra?” he gasps, then, “Sombra!”

“Right here.” She splashes through the quickly flowing water and throws herself upon the glass sheet. The edge hits her stomach as she climbs onto the only thing keeping him here. The cage she put him in herself. His red scales thrash at the explosions and shouting of men. Her knife still holds true in her hand as she positions it carefully. 

“Get back,” she warns, raising her blade as his honey brown eyes widen. 

Thrusting her weight into the stab, the glass factures, cracking for a few seconds before giving underneath her weight. Water rushes to meet her as glass cuts through the fabric of her pants and shirt. The cuts come alive in a sharp sting in the salt water, but one arm wraps around her waist.

She breathes in, blinking through the ocean’s liquid as he stares back. Scales touch through the water, brushing against her legs in surrealism. His dark hair drips water in the sudden openness of the tank, and she looks to his lips. The medallion still hangs around his neck, keeping her secret. 

He’s warm, like the sun on a slow day. 

“Come on,” she moves to the edge of the tank, already feeling the rush of cold sea flooding into the tank and lifting them upwards.

“Where?” He asks, keeping a firm grip on her waist. This is his element, and she struggles through the rush of water while he simply flips his tail. The movement of his fins is like watching bright paint bleed through the water. She would sit and stare if they weren’t both in jeopardy.

“There,” she points to the stairs ascending to the level where black cannons wait and men still scream. If she can move one of those away, the opening will be just enough for him to slip through and back into the ocean. The ship is sinking quickly, but that will force the British off the ship.

His hold is secure against her as the water gushes around them. Even with one arm supporting her, the merman swims with a strength both her hands and feet lack. Once upon the stairs, she spits out water as it laps into her mouth. Darting onto the quickly sinking wood, he says her name as she sweeps her gaze around.

“Come here,” she demands over the ocean and his wide expression. He flips his tail without question to where her hands beckon him. Grabbing his one arm, she throws it around her shoulder.

“Are you sure—”

“Shut up and hold on,” she spits between teeth as she twists to hold him against her back. His warmth and the sea touch her spine as she wraps her arms behind her to hold his waist. Fingertips barely touch between skin and scales as she lifts with her legs. Grunting escapes her mouth but she staggers up the last step as he holds tightly around her collarbones.

The merman is heavy, and his tail drags behind him as she trudges across the now empty level. Fine membranes of his fins flare out across her back and lower legs. The strange touch of his red tail pushes her even harder. Forsaken cannons have already tilted with the sinking ship, leaving the first opening to their use.

She grunts, heaving the creature on her back with jerky movements until she comes to the large opening in the side of the ship. Sombra turns, and lowers the merman to the ground as water rises from the hold.

“Sombra, wait,” he stops her as she turns to hold his strong chest. She kneels in splinter wood and blood. What’s left of Los Muertos are scattered in carcasses around cannons. The only treasure she holds struggles to keep her with him. The merman’s red tail shimmers in the dark night and fading power. He’s at her whim. Again and again she has misused his trust and gratitude just to taste the sugar in his gaze.

Now, he begs for her.

“No, you have to go—” She begins to push him to his one chance of escape, but they are already so close. She can feel his harsh breath against her cheek. Honey eyes nearly stick her to them forever.

“You’ll die.” His hand cups her cheek, patting back a few strands of hair as she finally stops to breathe. If they wait too long, the water level will rise, and the rush will be too strong to push him out of the ship.

His gaze holds her. Afraid. Afraid for her. 

Why must he make everything so complicated?

Crashing forward, Sombra’s lips tastes his in a rush of warmth and sea water. He moves against her intensity, tasting her mouth as if it’s the salt and water keeping him alive. A short kiss, but it’s enough for her.

A life finished with the kiss of a merman. 

Honey moves slowly over her, and he parts his lips as if just understanding what she stole. She doesn’t have time to bask in his expression of surprise and small joy.

Instead of an iron ball meant to blast through the side of a ship, Sombra lifts the merman in effort and gnashing teeth as he tries to hold on. His grip is in vain. Deep, rumbling cords speak her name as she pushes the merman out to sea. A tail of vibrate red is her last, beautiful image as he falls freely.

Sombra falls back on her heels, feeling the ship tilt to the port side as it begins to sink. Water slips into her boots, but she stands with renewed vigor.

Never once did she think of her death as being calm and peaceful. She will leave this life in a fury of screams and thrashes. Her soul, whatever that may be, will be torn out of her unwilling chest.

His kiss will be her best secret.

Cannons roll across the unbalanced floor as she struggles upwards. The stairs are on the opposite end, but she still guns for the wooden escape as the ship around her creaks and groans. As if the ship itself has a body and is crying out its last, dying breaths.

Water slips around her ankles. Reaching the last row of cannons, the floor is steadily tilting. Chains snapping apart screech against her ears in warning but the heavy cannon waits for no one. Sombra attempts to fling her body out of the way, but it catches her feet, spinning her across the floor to slide down to the sinking wall inside the ship. She hits against other cannons, and they shift in the water at her entrance to trap her foot against heavy metal and wood.

Curses leave her lips as she tugs against the hundreds of pounds of iron, but the pressure is creating pain in her foot. She scratches at the metal, even attempts to pry at the wood. Shifting and wiggling but to no avail, Sombra feels her heartbeat hammering in a thundering quiet. 

She lets out one ripping breath of frustration, before allowing her shoulders to fall against what was the floor. It tilts to nearly a ninety degree angle now. The portside must have been attacked several times to sink on such a sideways slant.

One last time, she struggles and attempts to lift her foot free, but only grinds her teeth at the weight causing pain.

Her fists curl in anger, before releasing with a quiet breath. Water trickles up her legs, cruel and uncaring. The level is now flooded, and it will be a matter of moments before the ocean fills her lungs too.

On reflex, her hand moves to hold the medallion around her neck. It’s cool metal touches her empty chest with the image of silver around the merman’s neck. A curse leaves her before a smile touches her lips. She hopes he won’t let it simply lie on the bottom of the ocean, but it won’t be a surprise if he wants the reminder of the human who betrayed him gone.

Slowly, she moves her hair from her eyes, and breathes slowly. She’s always known she’d die on a ship, but figured she’d be shot or run through with a knife. Perhaps even a cannon could have sprayed her all across the deck, but never at the expense of saving a merman.

She lets his image paint her eyelids for a moment, smirking at the kiss she still tastes on her lips. His name may never grace her tongue, but at least she has that of his.

“ _ Lo siento _ ,” she murmurs. Maybe to herself, and maybe to the merman. Maybe it’s to the world, or maybe it’s because she didn’t do somethings until it was too late.

Maybe…

“Sombra.”

She snaps to attention, tensing up as brown hair floats through the water. Sun kissed skin slips in through a hole. Red scales flash through the slowly flooding water, and breaks through to her. She presses back against the wood, heart accelerating at the sight of the merman and her trapped position.

“What are you doing?” she demands, sharp as he rises above the water. His eyes never waver, set on her face. Water now presses against her torso, and she struggles against the rising pressure.

“I can’t let go of something so pretty,” he says, touching her cheek before diving under the water.

Her lips curl, taunting her memory with her own response to his question many days ago.

His hand moves against her leg, comforting. His fins flare outwards as he is only a blurry mass underneath the film of water. The cannon’s pressure digging into her foot lifts for a few moments. Together, they can pull her free.

His fingers graze against her calf. Planting her free foot against another cannon, she counts to three silently.

The merman’s tail snaps and strains as he lifts the cannon with his one arm. Sombra pushes with one foot to free the other. The pressure is tight, but inch by inch, she pulls herself free. Her nerves scream in relief but the water barely allows her to float to the wood overhead. In mere seconds, there won’t be any more air space to breathe in.

He appears, water dripping down his hair and beard.

“Merman—”

“My name is McCree, Sombra.”

She stops as he lifts the medallion from his neck and onto hers. Her wet hair tangles in the chain for a moment, but his fingers quickly brush through her locks.

His name is McCree.

His arm wraps around her waist, steady and sure. Latching onto his shoulders, he flicks his tail. The merman drags her through the flooded stairs and to what remains of the top deck. The sails sink slowly into the waves. Los Muertos’s black flag drowns in the water as McCree tugs her through rope and splintered planks of wood. The King’s men may have wanted the merman back, but they destroyed any hopes of that when they sunk the ship. As they tread through the ocean, McCree keeps her above the water. Water will lap into her breathless lips but never does her head sink under the waves. Three royal ships are leaving  the wreckage. There is nothing they can do now.

They must be so disappointed.

“McCree,” she says. A new name from the new world, she guesses. It tastes right.        “I’ll get you to land,” he promises in honey eyes as she clings around his neck. The open ocean is vast. The deep blue surrounding them now as the last of the sails slip to the water depths is endless, and overwhelming.

“I ain’t about to let you die, Sombra.”

He flicks his tail, propelling them forward at a faster speed then she could have ever hoped of reaching on her own. Together, they paddle through the remains of Los Muetros and back to the coast.

She has no choice but to trust him as she still holds tightly to his shoulders. The flickers of red scales will catch her eyes. His determined looks hold her steady. There is nothing she can do except hold on. He refuses to let her go.

She trusts him.

 

*

 

A beautiful image of rocks barely serve as a small island, but he isn’t about to turn away from such an offering. She’s exhausted by the time he hoists her onto the dirty pebbles and dirt, but she presses her cheek against the sparse land with relief.

“Sombra,” he asks. He’s sprawled out beside her with his tail dangerously out in the open so close to land. Gently, he brushes her hair from her eyes as she breathes out. They’re both exhausted, but alive. 

“Right here,” she groans outs. Somehow soft laughter leaves his throat. The sharp gaze he’s come to embrace looks over him, before fading back behind heavy eyelids. He wants to laugh again, to bask in the sun for as long as he can beside her. Joy lifts him, and there is no fear. 

“ _ Gracious _ .” Her murmur almost doesn’t reach him, but he softly grins in return. It’s not every day a mermaid gets to escape from capture, much less with a human lovingly in tow. If he were to dare say so, she was meant to find him. Somehow, mismatched and misplaced, they’d come together.

“’course, darling.” He says, daring to lean over and touch his lips to her cheek. A smile ghosts against her lips, but she stays still. Weariness tugs through his scales and skin, but they’ve been trudging through waves for many hours. Humans need fresh water.

He shifts against the course dirt and pebbles, causing her eyes to flash open as the water laps against his red scales.

“You need water, I’ll be back.”

Propping herself up on one elbow, a hand moves to hold her medallion. She doesn’t like this.

“You’re even more exhausted than me,” she states.

“But I’m not the one dehydrated right now.”

She gagged a few times on sea water when waves threaten to shove them below the surface. His arm is tired, but to keep her close he had to work with the ocean and not against it. Humans can’t consume any liquid like mermaids can, she’ll get sick.

“It will only be a moment, rest.” His body shake with exhaustion, but she frowns before lowering herself back on the dirty.

“Hurry, McCree,” is all she says as he slips back into the water.

Land is very close, and he would have rather have her there now but she was simply struggling so long in the water. She needed that dirty little island. Cautiously, he swims where ships lie, noting any shadows reflecting human silhouettes or nets. The last thing they both need is more humans tangling him up in rope.

A dented cup lies halfway in the sand along with other garbage on the shore. He would be disgusted by the negligence if not for the need of it for her.

She saved him, even as she kept him prison. Selfishness goes a long way, he supposes. No different from him, but still. She wants him, and that thought alone keeps him searching the shore until he finds a small stream bleeding into the ocean like a vein. The water is strange, heavier, but it will keep Sombra until he can get her to land.

Carefully, avoiding human eyes and large ships, he carries the little tin over to the small island. When he comes to her form, she’s curled up on the rocks. Her clothes are still damp and her hair drips water down her back but she breathes slowly.

She jerks awake when he scrapes his tail against the dirt. Paranoia runs deep in her muscles as she grabs the knife still pressed along her boot. Now, she sits up slowly, and wraps both hands around his that hold the tin.

“Guess you really can’t let go of me,” she comments, exhausted but fulfilling the hope she never lets touch her tongue.

“You’re too pretty.” He smiles, letting it warm his features as she delicately drinks from the dented tin. It’s only a few mouthfuls, but she seems more alert when she tosses it aside.

“Are you ready to drag me around one more time?” Her brow raises, playful but still sharp. He looks to the coastline holding a few human towns and docks.

“Yes…” He turns back to her as she scoots closer to him in the water. Her legs just dip into the ocean when he wraps his one arm around her waist.

“What after that?”

She stops, lifting her gaze to his. For a moment, she parts her lips and draws his eyes to her pink mouth. Her hands move, wrapping around his shoulders before breathing out.

“I’m going to steal a boat. After that, we’re heading back to the colonies.”

He flickers his tail in surprise, lapping salt water against both of their torsos.

“You’re coming back home with me?” His tongue speaks, but he still doesn’t grasp how the human before him wants to endure so much. 

The corners of her lips tug upwards, amused but giving off a soft hint of uncertainty.

“We’re partners now, aren’t we?” Her thumb rubs against his shoulder, close to the arm that is scarred and stumped. The red on her cheeks blooms from the beating sun, and her own blood. Deep lips still hold him, healed from the split that happened days ago.

He leans forward, stealing back what she stole upon her lips. There is salt, but also exotic tastes against her teeth. A sharp, glinting knife that holds such a soft edge is her soul. When she isn’t fighting or dancing in the dark, she’s beautiful and gentle. A ray of moonlight upon his skin even in the noon.

They part to breathe, but she nibbles his bottom lip. Her hand tangles through his wet hair, full of secrets and truths he still wants to free from her palms. She presses her lips to his again, slow but chaste. His arm holds against her waist, never wanting to let go. 

His gills flare out when he turns away to breathe. Sharp eyes following the motion, before pushing him into the water. 

“Let’s go, McCree” she says as he holds her in the ocean.

 

*

No one treads the dock in the dead of night. There are larger ships looming ominously with their sails tucked away. Those are not what she needs. A smaller sailboard is what her eyes seek in the darkness. She finds one tucked in the back of the dock among smaller fishing boats. It will be difficult to cross the ocean, but she can manage with enough supplies and McCree.

For a span of many nights, Sombra slips into shops and takes their precious food and drink. Hiding the supplies out by the shore where McCree watches over them, she continues preparing for the journey. It won’t be Spain, but perhaps it could be a home after they get there in one piece.

They are still within the King’s territory although they’ve left the mainland long behind. Being patient is easier when the sunrises are spent alongside the merman. The shore is their little refuge. Sand dots his scales as his hand touches through her hair. Her clothes are left to dry out every morning when she sleeps. When night falls, she rises.

They have enough supplies now. Sombra will go into town one last time before she and the merman leave it behind forever.

“Go to the docks,” she says, letting the water lap against her boots. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Hurry, Sombra,” he whispers. Strong, familiar fingers squeeze her hand once before he slips underneath the dark waves.

The bar is always open. Getting to the back won’t be difficult, but she wants a drink first. Money is easy to slip out of a drunk man’s pockets. As she settles for a few precious moments at the bar, she lets whiskey burn her throat. McCree has never had alcohol, but he says it doesn’t smell good on anyone but her.

A hidden smile tugs the corners of her mouth. Her lips touch the glass before she swallows roughly. He’s so eager, so excited for her to come to the new world. His home. It will be anything but ease and uninteresting. Fitting though, as she hates to be bored.

She drinks one last time, a silent toast to the sea creature who’s taken her heart, and the new life upon the sea she enters.

Sombra walks out the front door and slips into the back. A few packages will help her along, and she carries them easily as she escapes into the night. There is no one out at this hour save for drunks stumbling home.

The docks are nearly invisible in the dark night. There is no moon to guide her but the shadows help keep her hidden. As her boots hit the wood of the dock, voices arise. Loud and in her native tongue. It stops her still for a moment, remembering where McCree is suppose to meet her. Here, right where the voices could easily see him if he wasn’t careful.

Slipping her box of fresh food and drink behind a small tree, Sombra creeps along the dock. In the faint starlight, three men stand at the end of the pier, right beside the boat she planned on taking across the ocean.

Los Muertos. Her mother tongue touches briefly upon the still night air in rough, low voices. They’re excited about something, and pulling at ropes in the dock.

Do they know that she’s alive? Probably not, but why else are they here? They won’t be happy to watch her desert their gang, especially after such a lost. Stealing the boat tonight is out of the question. Her actions will be suspicious, and McCree can’t be seen, or taken again.

Gritting her teeth in annoyance, but accepting the wait, she moves away. Sombra goes to slip her knife back into her boot, and leave the men to whatever they are so excited about when the ropes shift. A vibrate color catches her eye in the mess of net. Stalling her lungs, she watches closely, before seeing a thin membrane of a red fin flicker.

McCree.

The water ripples quietly as their harsh voices raise. A breath slips out of her lungs quietly before she shifts her grip on the knife. Stepping out from behind the shadow of a great ship, Sombra crosses the dock. Her boots echo in warning to her people. Facing the men, they have her skin and hair color, but bare gold teeth. 

“Sombra,” one calls out, shocked and surprised although the other two seem nervous at her approaching form.

“At least some of you aren’t dead,” she speaks in her own language. They are Los Muertos. It shouldn’t surprise her that a few of the crew survived the sinking of the ship. What does make her tilt the blade in the night is how they loom over the net. 

She arches her brow carefully, peeking around their bodies with new interest. As if the merman tangled in the ropes didn’t just see her too, and now waits with wide eyes and slow movements. There isn’t any blood or wounds decorating his skin. An easy breath leaves her lungs.

“What’s that you have there?”

“The same merman we stole from the King.” The first man speaks, gold tooth glittering in the night. “He was in this very harbor, and didn’t even see us until we snatched up him.”

She steps forward, carefully keeping her knife out of sight. They aren’t wary of her, but the greed in their eyes is as strong as the sea in a storm. Trapped behind rope, McCree’s gaze is only on her in the night. Caution makes her unable to fully keep him in the comfort of her sights.

Tightening her grip on the knife’s handle, she steps closer. One of the men shift, curling his lips in a quiet snarl of suspicion.

“There’s still money to be made.” The lead man lets her pass to the net. Her knife waits patiently in her sleeve, cold against her skin. “We can’t let the creature slip away again.”

Standing over him, tangled in the net, McCree is once again at her mercy. Sombra’s gaze is intrigued, but unconcerned. Honey eyes hold her. They reflect the fear caused by her hands. The fear of feeling the ocean for such a brief time only to be taken away from it again. 

He is unmoving, tense. There is no choice but for him to trust her, yet she could betray him all over again.

Slowly, she raises her hand to the chain around her neck, and opens the shirt of her blouse just enough for him to see the silver medallion. Her fingertip touches it once.

“We’re the one who caught him,” comes a harsh, dragging voice. She barely glances up at the man who still doesn’t smooth out his brow. “Why should she be in on this?”

The gold tooth man blinks slowly, as the other shifts uneasily. His fingers twitch to a weapon no doubt hiding along his waistband.

“I’m the one who kept him alive for all that time. I’m going to get something out of all that work.” Her snide comes easily, making the other man bristle with anger. One glance back shows that he’s tense and on edge. Two of them are ready to fight, but the man with gold teeth tells the others to shut up.

Their bickering rises, and with that she slips the knife from her sleeve. Underneath bindings of rope, McCree blinks at the blade. Slowly, she takes the net. With rising voices and tensing muscles, she focuses on cutting a wide enough gap. The noise is small, but hidden in the arguing behind her. Any of them could stab a dagger along her spine with ease, but she keeps slicing the rope and watching his scales. His fiery red fins settle, no longer holding guard against her lies and secrets as before.

One more slice of the knife gives him the freedom she can’t take anymore.

“Hey! She’s cutting the net!”

“Sombra,” McCree shouts in warning.       

She jumps forward, pushing McCree across the already wet deck. Adrenaline spikes through her veins as he struggles. His one hand reaches out, moving through the cut in the rope and touches her fingers. For one moment, she latches onto him as he goes off the dock.

A dirty grasp of broken fingernails snatches her hair, ripping her back and out of McCree’s grip. The splash in the dock is the only reassurance she gets as another man grabs her arms. Together, they throw her against the wood of the dock. A curse flows from the men’s tongues as he slams her skull against the ground. Her vision blackens as terrible pain rockets through her temple. Warmth spreads across her cheekbone, thick like blood.

“What are you doing?” The gold tooth man demands, leaning close enough to her ear to where his spit touches her skin

“I should have known.” The man holding her arms against her back sneers with black grime against his skin. “You don’t like sharing.”

She struggles, attempting to wiggle free but their weight pins her to the dock. A pointy knee presses into her back. After moments of struggling for freedom, the third man looks over the dock, but turns back swearing.

“The merman is gone.”

More curses arise. She tries to lift her feet to kick but is rewarded with a punch in the gut. Doubling over her stomach, Sombra struggles to breathe.

McCree is free.

“Get rope,” the gold tooth man orders, and one person leaves.

She doesn’t even know what happened to her knife. Maybe it’s still stuck in the net in her haste to get him off of dry land. McCree better not cut himself on it, it’s a sharp blade. He should take it, use it. 

“Did the merman charm you?” The dirty man leaves closer, almost touching her hair. “Did he make you fall for his song?”

She jerks, and nearly hits his nose with her skull but he twists her arms painfully. Clamping her jaw shut, she refuses to cry out. McCree won’t leave until he knows what’s happen to her.

They jerk her upright. Her knees are the only thing holding her now as the man sent to retrieved rope comes back. It’s thick, meant for a ship but it works just as well to bind her wrists and ankles although she resists that as well. 

Stretched out like a prized catch of the day, Sombra lets her cheek lie against the damp dock wood. The men loom over her while the dirty, grimy man kneels beside her. Drawing a knife, he presses it against her throat.

She grits her teeth, tensing her muscles at what will come. They won’t find McCree, and if he’s smart, he’s swam away a long time ago. They will try to kill her, but she will fight until there is no blood left in her heart. That isn’t something he should watch.

She should have given him the medallion before this. At least a piece of her to keep, or let rest beside his heart.  

The man leans close, smelling like spirits and rotten fish.

“Where is the merman?” he breathes out.

“Gone,” she says, grinning with blood staining her teeth.

A swift punch to the gut makes her double over. The man holding her still with the knife allows the movement but only to not immediate cut her throat. Pain blossoms in her stomach as she holds tense, but at least her breath is somewhat intact.

The man breathes slowly. He lets her straighten just to press the tip of the knife into the split already across her cheekbone. Digging into the blood there, she squirms as he holds her jaw still. Sharp, damage nerves echo painfully until he pulls away.

“You know, Sombra,” he speaks slowly. “That merman conned you better than you’ve ever conned anyone else.”

He sneers with grime and darkness. Her stomach twists with rage and fury, but also a settled fear.

“What pretty irony,  _ Sombra. _ ” He speaks her name like a hex, amusing. It twists on his slimy tongue.

She breathes out, feeling the taste of blood at the corner of her mouth. A sort of mad smile tugs her lips upwards.

She’ll die for something real.

Twisting her head, a pink splatter of spit hits his cheek, and he swears. Throwing her down for one moment, one of the men shout that they see the merman again. All three men look up and over the harbor. Twisting within her binds, Sombra swiftly rolls over the dock, and falls into the water.

Her splash dies in a quick and silent suffocation. The ocean embraces her as her teeth hold in oxygen. She can’t see anything in the darkness and liquid, but she struggles. For once, she is frighten of the dark. There is nothing as all ending as the black liquid she sinks in.

Red fins flare out, creating meaning in the depths. Like a fire in the water, vibrate scales come to her. McCree moves like sunlight on a grassy field. The form of his fins surround her as his one hand holds a knife. Her knife.

The medallion against her neck is light as she drinks in the sight of him.

She strains against the ropes as he moves easily to her backside. There is no up or down, but there is the comfort of his touch against her fingers as he cuts the bindings. Her hands move as he trails down her legs, allowing her feet to kick free of the rope.

Oxygen begins to burn out in her lungs, making her struggle to the surface as McCree slips the knife carefully back into her boot. Her escape to the surface is stopped at his arm wraps around her waist.

She parts her lips, letting the dead bubbles escape as she points upwards frantically. McCree knows she needs air. His hair flows in the darkness, but he leans forward. Carefully, he catches her lips.

Her instinct is to jerk away, but the first taste of delicious air touches her tongue. Gripping his hair and shoulders with renewed promise, she moves her mouth against his. The breathe together.

He pulls away. The gills on the side of his neck flair out, making her lean closer against him as she holds her new breath. Fine membranes of his red fins touch against her legs. For the first time, her hand finds his scales smooth and hard. They gleam even in the dark waters, but hold her firmly in the water.

When she lets oxygen deprived bubbles past her lips, he comes close again. Keeping her, she breathes as their lips move. There is no suspicion, no worry of being cheated. He is the only one she trusts. 

There is no time in such a place that they existence, but after many motions of breathing and kissing and bubbles, he lifts her gently to the surface. Underneath the dock, she bursts into her own air with a gasp and gulp. McCree still holds her close, listening as she slows her desperate lungs.

“Are you alright?” He asks as he looks over her face. The salt was stinging along her cheek, and a terrible ache blooms in one temple. Bruises will cover her stomach by morning light, but she is breathing. He is here, warm and close. 

“I’m fine.” She breathes against his cheek, curling her lips at once again slipping away like a shadow. There is no stomping of boots, or sounds of her mother tongue. 

“I’m sorry, Sombra,” he murmurs, angry but cautiously keeping her still. His tail works carefully to keep her head above the waterline. Red fins spread out in fury, but surround her like a flame burning along wood. 

“Don’t be.” Her fingers lock into his dripping hair for a desperate moment, just wanting him against her skin in every way. “We’re still alive.”

His grip on her waist tightens.

“Barely.” His harsh whisper touches her ear, but her heart lightens. The chain around her neck is familiar and heavy, but his arm is solid and secure.

“That’s all we need.”

*

Purple bruises decorate her skin on her right cheek and temple. The boat he swims along is swift and she sails it with confidence. The ocean is large and beautiful. He once thought he’d never swim in it again.

Her smiles are rarities, but they seem to come more easily when it’s just them upon the sea.

There was fear in the net they dragged him in and onto the dock. When he saw her, her dark, uncaring eyes, there was only defeat. What a fool he was to trust the human. What a fool he was to let her worm her way into his heart.

Her hands, the ones that have touched his hair and scales, suddenly moved with his freedom. He tried to hold on, but they ripped her away from him. Anger akin to the rage of when he was first captured boiled when those humans hurt her. Hiding in the water only made him fear he would be helpless to watch her death. That human grabbed her jaw, and he did the only thing he could. Capturing their attention had freed her, and then let her fall into the water.  

The bruises on her face still make him tremble in anger.

They stop to only eat and sleep. Storms annoy her, but he worries about losing her in the giant waves and harsh winds. Only once do they almost lose sight of each other, but both come back to salty lips and steady warmth.

Her wounds heal by the time they come to what she calls the Colonies, but it is his home. Her hand holds her medallion in thought, but regret and uncertainty never touches her features. On quiet nights, when they clasp hands and whisper sweet nothings along the shoreline, he comes to a conclusion.

They both are very free in the water, even while she has legs and he red fins. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was bound to do a mermaid au with McSombra sooner or later. Please R&R, it helps me out a lot! ♥


End file.
